NameIess

"Oh, I cannot make him a body. He did not bring one with him, and so any body I make him will be as unreal as I am." The Dreamsmith took the pen. "This is an interesting device. It does indeed have Prismite within its structure..." He peered into the pen lengthwise. "Does it gather ambient C.L. from the Thread? Incredible." He looked up at Inkwell. "Where did you say you got it?" For context, the Dreamsmith has altered the flow of the story to place Inkwell and 9/10's consciousnesses within the same body, but at different times for that body. Also, they're each in a separate instance of the Dreamsmith's workshop.

“Then your trial is passed.” Inkwell appeared in the Dreamsmith’s workshop. The Dreamsmith stood before him, a man of flesh with eyes of fire. “Hello Inkwell. What shall I forge for you?” Well I do often have a hankering for the whimsy and nonsense of TLT past. If he does manage to claim the Witherlord, Malevolence certainly will try to destroy the Thread. However, even the Witherlord can only do so much. Destroy worlds? Yes. Entire Thread at once? No. As he waited for Rebus’s reply, Malevolence finished his work on the rebuilt and modified Evil Communicator. With a small laser pencil, he engraved the new name onto its surface: Darkness Instant Messenger. Activating the device, Malevolence thought clearly, device sending those thoughts to the intelligent beings of darkness across the Thread. ”Greetings! I am Malevolence, and I have uncovered the secret ritual to return your master from the void. While I am wary of the certain risk of betrayal, I also am hopeful of finding some likeminded individuals who would be willing to aid me as I complete the ritual. If any of you exist who wish to ally with me, just think your response with Intent, and the device will transmit it directly to me.” @xinoehp512@Through The Living Glass

I seem to have lost.

The drone was silent for a time. “What is your life like?” It finally asked. “Outside the clearing?”

“Hm. But it does see that those who find this place are generally not of the temperament to hurt one another.”

“Inkwell? Are you alright? What… happened? I almost lost my grip on you. If it happens again, it could be… dangerous to you.” Omen’s voice was somber. “In any case, you have finished your trial, so long as you swear an oath to me. In coming here to grant 9/10 a body, you set him free to accomplish great evil. You are responsible for his actions. Swear to me that you will do your utmost to stop him, that you will oppose him no matter what and hinder his every move.” ”A good idea.” Lyric wrote below the fist entry. “sometime before that: I met Jack in the forest, then went to a mall to try and find the meaning of life. There was a crazy cultist Sage there who tried to eat our minds.” Lyric paused, then scribbled in a last note. ”He called me old.” — “Thank you.” Malevolence sneered. “I will say this: Bacon is a far better Narrator than you. You would never have been able to get the Page from him.” He pulled Darkseeker off of his back. It appeared to be shrinking, losing the axe blade and transforming into a different kind of bladed weapon. ”Good.” He murmured. “I had worried it wouldn’t change.” Malevolence looked up at Rebus, meeting his eyes and grinning. “You came here for clues about the page, I’m certain. Perhaps hoping to steal it. I presume you’ll attempt to stop me from completing the ritual?” Unintelligible stared at Willow, head cocked. “I can teach you to fight.” He offered. “And the Dreamsmith offered the possibility of restoring your hands. As for Rebus…” he glanced at the Antagonist with disdain. “You didn’t specify a timeframe for fighting him. Just sometime after we buried Sequence. So we have plenty of time.” be a hero. He thought. Help others. It’s what she would want.

“People are different here? Or people can still be evil here?”

I agree. Actually, I’d planned for the Protagonist/Antagonist thing to be concluded before Malevolence got near the Witherlord, but it seems he’s gotten ahead of me.

“Actually, no.” The drone replied. “My programming changed the moment I arrived here. I can’t even be mildly manipulative or evil any longer, and my weapons systems are totally deactivated.”

“Interesting. Perhaps you did not find the community you wanted here?” Some lights blinked on the drone. “Or perhaps you wish to truly face what is chasing you, rather than simply run from it?”

Malevolence held the Page in his hands and marveled at how far he had come. From intern to independent villain to contender for Antagonist to a seeker of darkness. And now, at long last, the power of the Witherlord was within reach. He could not help but laugh. Almost as soon as Malevolence reentered reality, his exterior teleporters transported him away, detecting the Page in his possession. Not to his base proper, as there was potential damage to security systems from the Vault’s breach. Instead, it transported him to a totally random location. Malevolence appeared in a forest where trees only fell when there was no one to hear them. There he laughed until his throat was raw. As he laughed, he read the page. As he read it, his laughter only redoubled in strength. It echoed through the forest, absolutely making noise despite the lack of outside observers. Eventually, Malevolence’s laughter died away. He wiped the tears from his eyes and regained his composure. Right. Time to get to work. “Time to Refresh.” He said, and drones appeared around him with whirring blades and needles, restoring his lost technology. As they worked, he pulled up the feeds from his Sophon observation network. A good thing I did not go straight to my base. It seems I have a visitor. Technology restored, Malevolence vanished in a crackle of lightning. Lyric took the journal and opened it to the first page. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and wrote: P. 4392: I and Jack bought supplies from a woman in the forest. Jack handled the negotiations, while I kept lookout. — Malevolence appeared back in his base, Lost Page no longer in his grasp. He walked over to a half-finished device that looked similar to his Evil Communicator and continued his work on it. ”Hello, Rebus. I don’t recall inviting you to this place.” Well technically I’m not Nameless, I’m since my name is actually Namiess, so… *reads*

Yes! Malevolence strained, again commanding the page to draw nearer. My life has been spent in service of darkness. By day I ponder evil’s nature, by night I follow its dictates. I have lied, cheated, stolen, killed! All that I might find the path of truest evil. And here you are! In this void left by reality’s shattering, Malevolence's evil will became manifest. Like tendrils of purest darkness, a stain on the otherwise colorless emptiness, they outstretched from his grasping fingers, entwining themselves around the Lost Page. Do not withhold this path from me, Malevolence commanded, willed, begged. I will be darkness incarnate. I will be Evil itself, come to crush all life, all hope, all good. Come to me, for I will be THE WITHERLORD! The tendrils of Malevolence’s will constricted. All his strength, all his conviction, every drop of his evil was poured into this final, desperate heave for victory.

The page moved away from Malevolence just as his fingers closed around the empty void-space it would have occupied. Malevolence growled silently and tried to propel himself faster, but no matter how hard he strove to jet himself forward, he did not seem to go any faster. In fact, he didn't seem to be moving at all. No! He screamed without noise. All my planning, only to lose the page now? I will not accept this! That page belongs to me! It should... As he spoke his desire, his claim, the page slowed just slightly in its approach towards Bacon. Malevolence's eyes widened in understanding, and he held out his hand. That page is MINE! I and I alone am worthy of its secrets. I am Malevolence, seeker of evil, seeker of darkness, and no other is deserving of such power. I will hold that page, I will be the Witherlord's heir, and I will shatter this Thread in darkness and death! That page holds my destiny and I WILL NOT be denied. Caught by the villain's desire and command, the Lost Page halted a few breaths away from Bacon's reach. Then, slowly, horrifyingly, it began to move back towards Malevolence. "Killed by his blade. Black it was, just as you said." The man shuddered. "Larid pulled a sword and tried to stop him, but the man's blade cut right through it, and Larid's neck besides."

"So you're him. The one he said might come after." The man's posture relaxed, and he walked fully into the clearing. "A man did this. Attacked our village, killed thirteen of us before he was through. He looked just like you." Unintelligible nodded silently. Moving slowly, he walked to the burial vault and placed Sequence's body within it. For a long moment, he stared at her pale, dead face. Then he turned away and walked back to Aelinor's side. Of its own accord, the lid of the burial vault slid into place, a final barrier between Sequence and the living world she had left. "Well," Unintelligible whispered. "That's that. She's... gone." He closed his eyes. "We should be on our way soon. The events of the Thread wait for no one. Do you... have any final words to say? Before we leave her?" Malevolence floated in the void, stunned by the majestic power of the blast. He looked around himself, beholding the destruction he had wrought. That... had not gone as expected. He'd never been foolish enough to test the explosive of course, but he'd thought he understood the destruction it would cause. But this... this was beyond anything he'd ever imagined. His eyes fell on the page, and a savage grin filled his face. Malevolence activated rocket thrusters to boost himself forward to the page. Or tried to. It didn't work. He tried to pull up a diagnostic screen to see the issue, but that failed as well. Marvelous. Still, he'd managed to hold on to Darkseeker. Malevolence concentrated, and with considerable effort, managed to boost himself towards the Page by shooting a thin stream of darkness behind himself. It was slow, but he made progress. As he approached the Page, Malevolence reached out with one hand, holding Darkseeker firmly in the other. After all this time, the path to the Witherlord's power would be in his grasp. "Mhm. Well, best of luck on yer' stupid quest. Hope the two of yeh' don' run into anythin' too nasty." The shopkeeper turned around and went back into her building. Lyric relaxed as soon as she was out of sight. "Excellent! Shall we continue on our quest?"

I see you will not be convinced. Fool that you are, I still pity you. Pray that your god will strengthen Bacon's arm, else Malevolence turn his attention to you. -- The King snorted. "Of course. They can effect it just as they can effect any Narrator: with great difficulty." Behind Inkwell is not a monster of horrible feature, but a man carrying a body to the clearing. The man had stopped walking to watch Inkwell cautiously, but he did not look aggressive. He looked sorrowful. Faced with the true power of a Narrator, Malevolence felt a sudden spark of doubt. Had he perhaps rushed into this fight a little too quickly? Had he miscalculated Bacon's strength? No, of course not. His basic plan would work, it just needed a few... tweaks. The first issue was one of scale. Malevolence had planet-killing weapons, of course, but he doubted Bacon would turn down the opportunity to transform an antimatter warhead into confetti or the like. That left more... experimental options. Malevolence twitched a finger, summoning an army of various drones and robots to distract the soldiers while he ran a few quick calculations in his head. The vault will survive, of course. He thought. It was built to be especially durable from the inside, and Bacon has conveniently added in a rather large amount of space as cushioning anyways. But will I? He considered this for a few seconds. Likely, yes. Wasting no further time, Malevolence raised his wrist to his mouth and spoke clearly. "The Price of Failure." As soon as he spoke these words, a few things happened at once. First, one hundred large drones built specifically for the task appeared and locked together into a metallic shield around Malevolence, then drained their batteries to produce a much more powerful energy shield around the villain. Second, Malevolence himself created a sphere of liquid darkness within his drone-produced shield, reinforcing it with all his will. Third, a metal sphere covered with wires, about the size of a golf ball, appeared on the opposite side of the planet. This sphere was very simple. A callback to classical experiments crafted by some of the more brazen history makers of Thread. The wires running through the sphere sent a rather unstable mix of energies towards the core of the device. Other wires ordered the outer portions of the sphere to explode, forcing the newly destabilized contents of the core to become closer in association than they would have liked. That central core was not inhabited by much. Just a few miniscule flakes of metal, perhaps a gram of mass in all. Only one flake of Prismite, one of Mordite, one of Nullite, and one of Luxite. (that last being particularly draining on the reserves Malevolence had stolen from Rebus's isolation efforts) The end result of this simple device was also simple. The four metals, forced to mix, decided they did not like this new arrangement. They disliked it so much so, in fact, that they decided to self-detonate in a violent, reality-tearing explosion that looked on planets as tissue paper and itself as the cosmic sneeze.

The fire in the fireplace flared up as the Dreamsmith snapped his next reply. ’Unending’ war? Fool! This war may very well end, precisely because of the Fell Blades. Their power is too centralized. TLT should never have a single Antagonist and Protagonist. There should be many. That is what I seek to ensure. I will not forge the two into one, but transform both Blades into new forms, ones that will not threaten the Thread itself! I will not end your war, merely ensure it’s safe continuation. — “Yes.” The king relaxed inwardly, happy to be away from dangerous topics. “It grants Narration. It does not, however, make one a Narrator.” The hole held the corpse of a woman, face frozen in a death mask of fear. Inkwell heard crunching behind him.

Malevolence lowered his axe slightly, surprised. Then he ran toward the nearest Bacon with a widening grin. “Marvelous! Rebus may be the Antagonist, but you are my pick for the greatest living Narrator.” Inkwell found himself standing in an empty forest clearing. Several rectangular holes had been freshly dug around the clearing, piles of dirt next to them. No man can wield the power of either Blade safely. I will reforge them in such a way that the Thread will no longer be plagued by either an Antagonist or a Protagonist. — “His name was lost to history.” Murmured the king. “As was that of the Traitor.” He glanced to the side. “We have… no more knowledge than what I have said.”

So you are prepared for the trial? An illusion? No. Why bother? Malevolence spun Darkseeker around him, both to clear space around him and to command the liquid spikes, ordering them to reform into a razor-edged ring. With a mental command, Malevolence sent the ring expanding through the room, hoping to cleave through the crowd. This will be fun. He thought, and laughed. The shopkeeper handed over the supplies, peering suspiciously at Lyric. "Yer' friend don't talk much. Looks afeared o'me. There a reason fer that?" Job observed these fine creatures for a time, then sat down with a sigh and waited to be forgotten. His describing features began to fade. No. But he seeks a power far more destructive than any remnant of Plot. You know of what I speak. There was another pause before the Dreamsmith continued. Because of my weapon, he stands a good chance of claiming it. The Antagonist seeks the same goal, though for different reasons. I fear that either of them could destroy the Thread with that power. High Priest, the Protagonist must be found. The Blades must be brought to me so that I can reforge them. If the Witherlord is summoned before this is so... I see little hope that this Thread shall continue.

Did you see the spoiler box?

When the Dreamsmith spoke again, his voice was soft, somber, and grim. My hand has forged the blade at your throat. It is because of me this darkness plagues you. His name is Malevolence, and he seeks to claim a piece of your god. — The king sighed. “I just explained it. Our creator-a Narrator, you would call him, though to us he is much more-forged that crown from his own heart. It grants one a measure of his power, though it cannot be used to empower oneself.” Omen swirled impassively. What further preparations must you make? “Very well.” The darkness pooling at Malevolence’s feet began inching towards the pair of Bacons. “I see that convincing you is useless. I shall delay no longer.” He swept Darkseeker upwards, sending a wave of dark liquid spikes for the two Bacons.

Malevolence’s expression darkened. “Fine. How about: give me the pages, or I will kill this form of yours and take them by force, then kill every person you’ve ever cared about.” He paused, grinning. “Although it seems most of your past friends are already dead. Perhaps you won’t care about that either.” There was silence for a time, and then, coming from everywhere at once and yet also out of the fireplace, a voice spoke. You know I cannot come to you. I am but that which I forge. Dreams cannot enter the world of the living. Not without… great consequence. There was a pause, then the voice continued. But I can tell you from whence this darkness has come, and why it bedevils your sect. — “I was no tyrant!” The king exclaimed forcefully. “I served my people. That crown was our sacred artifact, passed down from my forefathers, given then by the Creator. He formed it from his own heart as he lay dying of wounds given him by the Traitor lord of Shadows.” He lowered his eyes. “I, least of my line, have failed the sacred charge given my ancestors by the Creator. To protect our people, to serve them, and never to use the Crown for personal gain.” — Are you prepared? @edgyswordname

I see. Since you both wish to seek the Dreamsmith, In two, or three days. My Author will not be present tomorrow When he returns, I shall seek you out to begin your trials.

Omen speaking to the voice in Inkwell's head. Omen swirled into a watery whirlpool, fish with jagged teeth and glowing eyes swimming within his depths. Seeker of the Dreamsmith, what do you wish the Dreamsmith to do for you? He cannot give you anything which you do not bring yourself.

I speak you. I am and here. Omen appeared in a swirl of ocean water and kelp. Do you seek the Dreamsmith?

The king opened his eyes. “Back to mock me further?” He asked in a rasping voice. “What more do you want from me?” — “Then indeed, salvation may be found.” Murmured the priest. “I shall now spread the news further, Highest Priest. In the name of Plot, it shall be done.” “Are you alright?” Omen’s voice spoke as if from nowhere.